This Game We Play
by theinsanegirlwhotalkstoherself
Summary: I realize that the rules of our game hadn't changed: we were playing another game entirely. oneshot


**Hey. So technically this story isn't about Damon, because there aren't any names in this, but I was watching the Vampire Diaries episode where Damon is drowning himself with liquor trying to get over Katherine, and this just came to me. Also, I loosely based my guy on Damon, though I don't know if it shows. Kudos to Zoe for editing. **

**Disclaimer: I don't think I need one of these [see above explanation about Damon] but better safe than sorry. I don't own anything, yada yada yada. **

**Enjoy!**

"Hey," he says cockily, just like he always does. He sits down, with the air of a rich playboy. Which he could very well be, with his black hair, and the onyx eyes that felt like they could look right into your soul.

As he sits down, I ignore him, like I always do. It's the same game every night: he'll come in, walk straight over to the bar, order a drink, then proceed to try to annoy the hell out of me.

"I'll have the usual," he says.

I snort at his comment. "And exactly what would that be?" I say with a hint of sarcasm, knowing that he always orders a beer. Every night I ask him--it's all part of this game we play.

"Just get me a damn beer!"

Looks like someone's having a bad day; usually he would say something dreadfully charming just to make me hate him even more. But looking at him more carefully, he actually looked awful. There were bags under his eyes, like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in days, and his face was paler and thinner than usual. The peculiar symptoms concerned me. But not enough to say anything about it.

I got a bottle and glass out from under the counter, placing the glass in front of him and pouring the beer. He just stared at it, with a thoughtful but somewhat dark look on his face. This was definitely not the guy that was in here yesterday.

"Okay, I'll bite," I say finally. "What's eating you?"

"Nothing," he replies, sounding bitter.

"Obviously it's not nothing; if it was, you wouldn't be staring into a glass of beer like you thought it was poisoned."

"I guess..." he begins, trailing off uncharacteristically. "I realized something."

This would be a perfect time to insult him about something. It was the perfect set up for something like, 'Oh, you realized that you're a stuck up loser that is going to live up to your father's expectations by amounting to nothing,' but looking at him, even one of my less hurtful insults such as 'You're going bald at 23' would make me feel guilty about insulting him when he was in this state.

"And just what did you realize?" I ask, filing away the insults for another time.

"I'm in love with a woman who hates me with every fiber in her being, and the thought of possibly loving me disgusts her to no end."

I felt my heartbeat accelerate at those words, even though there was no way he was talking about me. There was still a part of me that wanted him to love me. Sadly, I was just someone he annoys on the weekends; he was probably talking about someone from work. I felt a sting of disappointment at the thought of him loving someone else like that, then I caught myself. This was the guy that had been a thorn in my side for the past three weeks. I should be glad: maybe once he gets this girl he would stop bugging me. Getting him out of my hair was the only reason I was even bothering to ask about her.

At least, that's what I told myself.

"How do you know she hates you?"

He smiles, but it's a twisted and bitter version of his usual charming, crooked grin. The one that makes my stomach do flips like an acrobat on crack. This smile only made me see just how broken he was. All of a sudden I was furious with this woman; how dare she make this incredible guy feel so awful? Even with my anger, I couldn't believe what I was about to do.

"Trust me, I know," he says.

"Well, you are annoying," I say, "but you're also funny, and charming sometimes, when you're not too drunk. Any girl would be lucky to have a guy like you and if she can't see that then it's her loss."

He looks at me, like he couldn't believe those words had come out of my mouth. Frankly, I shared the sentiment -- any other day, the thought of me trying to comfort him was laughable. This woman must have done something incredible to get him from his normal egotistical self to this beaten-down version of him.

"Are you really that thick?" he asks, giving me an incredulous look.

My jaw drops. "Excuse me?" I just gave him the best pep talk I've ever given anyone, and he was calling me thick? Next time I'll just leave him to rot in his pity party.

"Why do you think I've been coming here all this time?" he asks, staring.

"I thought you came here for a drink, just like everyone else!" I say, more sarcastically then I should've, but he was acting strange, and I was getting extremely confused.

"To be close to you, to get to know you, to make you laugh, and to maybe -- just maybe -- get you to like me!" he says, sounding more than a little desperate.

I look at him. His words were legible, but they weren't making much sense. This god in front of me actually wanted me! I found the notion of it hilarious -- not that I haven' t dreamed about it, but for him to actually feel the same way? Just then, I realized that I had been staring at him like the idiot I was, for too long, without saying anything.

"Okay. I get it. I've been wasting my time trying to get you to like me. You're the most amazing girl I've ever met, but I know now you would never go for a guy like me."

I try to think of something, anything, to say, but it was like my entire body went into shock, and my brain wasn't even functioning. He had just given that incredible speech and was looking at me pleadingly, but I was still staring at him like he had grown a second head.

Looking dejected, he started to get up and go, and I was suddenly aware that if he left, he'd never come back. I screamed at myself to do something. I think it was safe to say my brain had left the building, because my body took over. It walked out from behind the bar and went up to him. His eyes followed my movements warily as if he thought I was going to smack him again, like I do when he gets just too drunk and does something stupid. I had no idea what I was doing when I walked up to him, took his face into my hands and pulled his lips to mine.

At first he was unresponsive, and for a frightening moment, I thought I had just made the single biggest mistake of my life. Then I felt his lips start to move with mine. Then his tongue was begging for entrance, which I allowed, before moaning at the contact.

His hands drifted down to my waist, then pulled me even closer to him, if that was possible, seeing as we were already chest to chest. I started pulling on his hair gently, running my fingers through it. I felt him groan softly. Things were just getting good when I heard a forced cough. Reluctantly, I broke away from him to see my boss giving me a pointed stare. I smiled sheepishly as I disentangled myself and walked back around the counter. My boss gave me another dirty look, then stalked off.

"So what does this mean?" I ask as soon as the coast was clear.

"Well, I definitely don't think you hate me anymore," he says, smiling -- one of his real ones, which made me smile just from seeing it.

"So I'll see you tomorrow?" he says, just like he does every night. Suddenly we were back to the game again, but now something was different, as if the rules had changed.

"I'll be here," I say, just as I always do.

He stands to go, and leans over the bar to kiss me softly. As he walks out the door, he turns and gives me another perfect smile. Watching him leave, I realize that the rules of our game hadn't changed: we were playing another game entirely. This one seemed much more entertaining.


End file.
